In the Mouth of Hell: The Belkan Conflict
by Simon Aridan
Summary: An aging Albert Genette chronicles the events of the Circum Pacific War and sheds light upon the already legendary Aces of Razgriz.
1. Foreword

If anyone wishes to discuss my writing with me, my AIM is indianagol. 

Disclaimer: I do not own Ace Combat, nor any ideas or names which have been conceived by Namco.

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_"In war, men are nothing. _

_It is the leader who is the head and the heart, _

_the whole of an army."_

_-Napoleon Bonaparte_

_"An Army is a team;  
lives, sleeps, eats, fights as a team.  
This individual heroic stuff is a lot of crap."_

_-George S. Patton_

**In the Mouth of Hell : The Belkan Conflict**

A Tale of War, Honor, and Hope

From those who were there

Foreword

The Belkan Conflict, also known as the Circum Pacific War, has always been shrouded in mystery and subject to so much conjecture that it has been extremely difficult to separate fact from legend. This war, which took place only twenty years ago, eventually ended in the era of peace which we enjoy today. However, the first thing that comes to mind when the Belkan Conflict is mentioned is that legendary fighter squadron known as the "Aces of Razgriz". These pilots came, seemingly out of nowhere, to defeat the Belkan aggressors along with their superweapons, and bring about the next great era of prosperity to our world. This squadron, like that war in which they participated, has been bombarded with so many different myths and written about in so many books, fiction and otherwise, that no solid truth remains to explain their identities or their history.

In order to understand and comprehend the Circum Pacific War, and this group of seemingly godlike flyers, we must understand and comprehend the conflict which took place fifteen years previously.

The Principality of Belka had fought several wars of world domination, clashing with the allied powers of Yuktobania and Osea. Thirty-five years ago, with the dream of global dominion still fresh in their minds, and a newfound industrial capacity, Belkan forces poured out of the northern lands to wage one last desperate battle against the world. The allies were pushed to their limits, but Belka could never muster enough manpower, materials or leadership for total victory. The Belkan's supply network was unable to keep up with their forces' rapid advances. Deprived of food and ammunition, the fearsome Belkan divisions were surrounded and destroyed piecemeal.

The allies had quickly advanced to the mountains that served as Belka's southern border. Osean and Yuktobanian leaders had learned from their mistakes. This time around, they would accept nothing less than unconditional surrender and occupation of the country of Belka. The Belkan leadership knew how dire their situation was. The country that they fought so hard to create and strengthen would be literally wiped off the map. As a solution, they decided that only seven cities of that country would be wiped off the map. The seven cities were near a location known as the "Northern Gate". The Gate was a narrow valley which laid between two mountain ranges, and was the only ground route into greater Belka. One morning, when the weather was cloudy, a massive burst of light appeared from the far side of those mountains. It is said that some five thousand people outside of the blast radius lost their sight in that moment, a few even as far away as Oured.

The Belkans had simultaneously detonated seven nuclear warheads onto the same number of their own cities near the Northern Gate. Millions were instantly incinerated, and millions more died of the resultant fallout. The Gate and parts of the surrounding northern area remain radioactive to this day.

Faced with a barrier of radiation which would defeat any advance, the allied forces had to content themselves with entombing the Belkans in their icy graveyard to the far north. Total victory was not won, and although Belka no longer had it's industrial infrastructure or it's powerful military, it remained an independent nation with a stable monarchy.

There were many reasons that Belka was defeated in that final, catastrophic war. One of the chief reasons is that the skies above the advancing allied forces were kept clear due to the efforts of the Osean Air Corps, which was widely known to be the best in the world. One pilot in particular stood out from the rest. He was known only as "The Skymaster" and to some, "The Flying Savior of Osea". By his own wishes, his name and appearance were never released to the public. He knew that he would receive a lot of recognition, something for which he did not care. Today, this man is rarely mentioned anywhere, save history textbooks.

Now, only after knowing that story can you hope to understand the story of the feared "Demons of Razgriz", later know as the praised "Aces of Razgriz".

As you may have gathered, I am that journalist who met those young and humble pilots on that little island twenty years ago. I arrived at Sand Island Air Corps Base in a purely professional light, but as events rapidly unfolded, I knew that I had found the adventure of a lifetime, an adventure that would be spent alongside the greatest people I have ever met.

This is not a narrative in the traditional sense. Every word is taken from the journals, memoirs, and the speech of these legends. Nothing has been edited, censured, or changed in any way. Yes, my own experiences are included in this tale, as well.

I earnestly hope that once you have completed this reading, you will understand the facts behind the rumors, the truth behind the myths, and that you will be able to paint your own picture of that dreadful time when the skies were streaked with the red of blood.

-Albert Genette


	2. Passing the Torch

**I. Passing the Torch**

I never wanted to become a legend, you know. People will tell you otherwise, but I have always been misunderstood in many ways. It's really ironic, too, because I had become a pilot to _avoid_ such praise.

Anyway, I had to tell you that before I begin this story in earnest.

I guess I'll start off with my father. To put it simply, he molded me into everything I am today. Henry Lockridge had been a soldier for all of his life. It seems strange, but I never found out why this was so. Either I didn't want to know, or I told myself that I didn't _need_ to know. Whatever the reason for his lifestyle, he was intent on giving me, Jake Lockridge, the same kind. For the first eight years of my life, Dad was always there. He had a strange way of raising me, though. He always told me that it took infinite courage to ask for guidance, but it took the worst kind of cowardice to ask for assistance. When I asked the difference, he explained that input and criticism from others allowed a man to adapt and grow, but receiving actual help in completing tasks and relying on others for support only weakened the spirit by lightening the load of challenges on yourself. He also said that in helping others with their difficulties, I would be strengthened while they would be eroded.

I took that lesson to heart, and it has served me well throughout my life.

Even before the age of seven, I always loved to take long jogs out in the surrounding suburban area by myself, but I was never tempted to run over to the lemonade stand or the ice cream cart with the other children. That was another lesson I had learned. The lesson was of discipline. I was told to control thirsts, to control hunger, and to control emotion. Once again, I absorbed that lesson and it would go on to serve me well.

The greatest lesson that I would learn from my father, however, were the concepts of duty and honor. Dad was a true patriot, and he made sure I became one too. He taught me the history of the world and that of the Osean Federation. I realized that this was my homeland, and a homeland whose ideals I believed in and trusted my life to. Therefore, I had a responsibility to defend her and the foundation of which she was based upon. He taught me what war was, and why it was a scourge upon mankind. However, I also accepted the fact that war will never be eradicated. War is engraved into mankind's soul, and is inevitable, no matter what precautions are taken. I accepted the fact that innocents, if such people exist, will be killed in war. Like war itself, civilian casualties are unavoidable. Tragedies and horrors will take place, and that is the very nature of war.

I will never forget that one sunny morning in August of the year 1995, when my father came to me with a backpack and grabbed my shoulder. He told me directly and without tact that he was going off to fight the Belkan forces which threatened our country and our freedom on this earth. I saluted my father and said, "Good luck, soldier. Go get em'." He returned the gesture, and as Dad walked out of the front door, he uttered those words which I shall never forget as long as I live.

"Thank you, Lord. I have finally done something right."

Some months later, a few days after the war had been declared 'won', there was a ring of the doorbell just after suppertime. My mother and I knew much more about each other than we ever had, due to Dad's leave of absence. It was to be another quiet night for her. After I helped clean the used dishes, I would go out to the field to play baseball with the older kids. After I heard that bell, I opened the front door to look upon an Osean Air Corps serviceman. The man looked at me, and to my surprise, saluted. I wasn't confused or worried. I knew what was coming next. I returned his salute.

"Mr. Lockridge. I'm glad that you're the one who's greeted me."

He seemed like a miniature compared to my father, and I'm not talking about height. In order to save the man some breaths, I asked the only question which was on my mind.

"He's dead, isn't he?"

The serviceman was taken aback at this question, and rightfully so. I doubt many children acted the way I did upon the hearing the news of their father's death. I then heard the voice of my mother, calling from the kitchen and asking who was at the front door. I motioned to the box which the serviceman had laid on the ground beside him, as a sign to speed this conversation up.

"Ah, yes, of course. Your father sent this message with these books."

He handed me a small piece of paper, folded lengthwise. I accepted it and quickly read the few words written upon it.

"_This is what I was, son. If you've followed me this far, maybe you're willing to follow me a little farther."_

By this time, my mother had arrived at the front door to investigate the situation. The investigation didn't last long. Within five seconds of seeing the Air Corps serviceman, she rushed up the nearby stairs into my bedroom and slammed the door. My expression remained unchanged even as the serviceman's face was turning red.

"Anything else?"

He looked at me with eyes of wonder, as if he just couldn't believe that I was this mature for my age. The serviceman then reached into his jacket pocket to pull out an envelope.

"A letter addressed to you. From one of your father's closest friends."

I accepted the letter, but I had decided to wait until the man was gone to read it.

"Is that all?"

The serviceman saluted me once again, and before leaving, said

"You're a better man than many I've met, Mr. Lockridge."

I felt something in my chest just then, but try as I might, to this day I have no idea what that feeling was.

After he left, I looked through the box of books. Military aircraft encyclopedias, flight training textbooks, and a copy of the Osean Air Corps manual were all there. It was then that I made that fateful decision to follow in Dad's path. I felt it would bring me closer to my late father as well as allow me to fulfill my duty to my country. I then opened the letter from Dad's friend. It had no return address, and was written on simple looseleaf paper.

_Dear Mr. Jake Lockridge,_

_If you are reading this, then I assume that you are aware of your father's death in the line of duty. I tell you know that you must not despair because of your father's passing. He died fighting for what he believed in. He died doing his patriotic duty to his country. He wants you to remember him with pride rather than sadness, with a sense of accomplishment rather than failure. He has spoken of you many times, and believes that you are the fruit of all his labors. He knows that you will remain loyal to his teachings, to the teachings of our country, to the teachings of God, and to your own conscience. He now watches all of us from above the skies, and as long as you retain your sense of loyalty and pride, nothing will be able to defeat your spirit, and that is the part of humans which matters most._

_-"The Skymaster"_

I have to admit that I do not remember the exact thoughts which passed through my head the rest of that night, but I do remember my actions. I calmly walked up the stairs to my room and without knocking, entered to see my mother sitting on the edge of my bed, not crying, but having a look of remembrance on her face, along with a curious smile. She didn't look at me as I pinned the letter on my wall and scooped up my glove and bat. As I took a step down the stairs, I heard her call to me.

"Where are you going?"

She didn't sound sad or angry, but she wasn't overflowing with joy either.

"I've got a promise to keep. I told the guys that I'd be pitching tonight, and I can't ignore my responsibilities."

My mother told me later that she had quietly responded,

"Damn good answer."

-----

I reached the baseball field exactly on time, just as the guys were loosening up their arms.

We played a full seven inning game that night. After it was over, the boys told me that I had pitched all seven perfectly. They then explained my attitude during the game.

"You had ice water running through your veins, and you were throwing pure fire!"


	3. A Last Out, A First Encounter

For those so inclined, please leave reviews if you can. An artist's growth depends upon accurate feedback.

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**II. A Last Out, A First Encounter**

Nagase

-----

_-Where did you first know Jake Lockridge, and what was his personality like at that time?_

Well, the first time I had heard of Frosty... uh... Jake, we were enrolled in the Air Corps Academy together. He was indeed popular there (or infamous, depending on your viewpoint), considering the fact that he was pitching for the men's baseball team. For all the hype around him, though, he would brush off a lot of potential friends. When a girl would try to discuss anything with him that wasn't related to school or sports, he would always ask if there was a point to the conversation. If the answer was "No," he would say "Time is money," and continue about his business. Personally, no one knew who the real Jake Lockridge was, and that's why everyone thought of him as a pompous, arrogant ass.

_-What did he typically wear while at the academy, and how did that impact his public image?_

He would typically wear his cadet uniform. He just seemed to be so proud of himself while in that attire. When he felt like being casual, or when eating, he would have dark blue jeans on with a simple white t-shirt with the emblem of the Air Corps, the Osean Federation, or something of that equivalent. Everyone knew he was a devout patriot only a few day after his arrival.

_-You specified the term 'personally'. While in a professional atmosphere, would he act the same way?_

That's what was curious about him. Off the job, he was as cold as ice, but while on duty, he did everything that was asked of him from his colleagues, along with an extra ten percent. Jake was always quick to solve problems, whether they were his own or not. Every time that he took on someone else's burden, it seemed that someone had sent a surge of energy throughout his body, and he was sharper and more agile than normal. The weirdest part of it all, however, is the fact that sometime between the academy and when we flew in the war, he became a social being while off duty.

_-What did you think of Lockridge at that point in time?_

Well, I only knew what I had heard, since I had never spoken to him. I couldn't make an accurate judgement, but I wasn't a big fan of the way he spoke to some of the other cadets, so I guess you could say that my attitude towards him was on the negative end of the spectrum.

_-Would you describe in detail how you met him face to face?_

Well, it's a very funny story, actually. As things turned out, I was already on the women's baseball team before I knew who Jake was. I was always told that I needed to become invovled in a team sport. I wasn't well known, of course, especially because of the male team's success. In our second year at the academy, the recreational activities committee at the top thought it would be good publicity if there was an annual Men's/Women's game which took place in November. It was all bullshit, of course. The men were supposed to get beaten severely, without a real contest of skill. We asked ourselves 'How in the hell does this prove anything?'. So when the game had begun, we ignored the orders of our respective coaches, and played the game the way it was supposed to be played.

_-The coaches were in on this, too?_

Of course. The coaches didn't take too kindly to this, especially the ones in the opposing dugout. They took out every pitcher who was actually _pitching_. Eventually, they only had Jake left. It was at the bottom of the ninth now, and the women were down by three runs. The pitcher on the mound was dominating, so Jake was called in to botch the game. We had to ruin the spirit of the game if we were to make sure the guys didn't forfeit, or more precisely to make sure that the guy's _coaches_ didn't forfeit. So, Jake dealt with the first two batters easily, then walked the next two and allowed the runners to double steal. As it turns out, the next person in the lineup was me. Now he stopped messing around and started pitching. The first pitch would have hit my nose, had I not fell out of the way. When this happened, some of the crowd gasped, as if saying in unison, "How dare you?"

The gasps and boos did not phase him at all. Jake had a reputation for clutch pitching. That's how he got the nickname "Frosty". This not only reflected upon his pitching skills, but also upon his character as well.

We both did our part and ran the count full. A home run would tie the game, and if the males didn't score in extra innings, which they wouldn't, Jake would eventually succumb to fatigue. I don't know how I knew to hit that next pitch, but when I did smack it to the left fielder, he bobbled the ball. Whether it was intentional or not didn't matter. The runners on second and third scored easily. Knowing that I would be called out at home, I 'attempted' to stretch the triple into a home run. I was still much closer to scoring than I had imagined. It took a cannon shot from the outfield and then an instinctive play by Jake, in which he backhanded the ball to the catcher, to record the out.

_-What happened after that final out?_

It's very difficult to explain the emotion that was on the field as both teams left their dugouts to congratulate the other on their unified victory. A lot of mixed feelings were on that field, I imagine. As for me, not ten seconds after the out at home plate did I see Jake looking down at me and offering to help me up. I was cautious at first, but something seemed very unique about him, something that the other male cadets didn't seem to have. I grabbed his hand and he helped me up. He didn't say another word about it, and simply patted my shoulder and said "Nice game," before he began to leave. Before he got too far away, I called out,

"Hey! You're Lockridge, right?"

He turned around and stepped towards me, for the sound on that field was deafening, but steadily lowering in intensity.

"Well, if Lockridge is the name on the back of this jersey, then I would hope it's mine."

I felt very idiotic right there, and Jake could tell, if his next sentence was any indication.

"Ah, forget about it. Anyway, I didn't catch your name. I really don't pay attention to jerseys."

I then saw him let out a little smirk, something which never happened at the academy. Ever. Meanwhile, the crowd had already begun to disperse. It was by sheer chance that a few of my cadet buddies approached at that moment.

"Hey, Nagase! We're gonna grab a bite to eat. We've still got some time before we have to report back. You wanna come along?"

Jake was annoyed. The damn brats didn't even acknowledge his presence. I could see that behind his neutral facial expression, he was annoyed, but I wouldn't go so far as to say that he was angry. Looking at my buddies, then back at Jake, I replied,

"That depends. Were you going to ask Mr. Lockridge to join us? I'm sure he would appreciate the company."

As those friends of mine silently protested, Jake declined the offer anyway.

"Nah," he said while shaking his head. "I've got a lot of reading to catch up on. You go on out and have a fun time with your pals."

Before I could respond, one of the guys said quickly, "Oh my, what a shame, uh... I think we better get going before we run out of time."

You do notice that I did not give any names for those 'friends' of mine. That's because I don't remember their names. At any rate, that was my first and only conversation I ever had with my future wingman at the Air Corps Academy. It wouldn'tspeak tohim again for another four years.

_-Did your opinion of him change after that?_

I think it's fair to say that my opinion of him was raised back to neutral levels.

_-Was there ever another Men's/Women's game? _

Hehe, no.


	4. Unwelcome Guest, Undeclared War

_This took me a little longer to get out than originally planned. As always, reviews are appreciated._

**IIIa. An Unwelcome Guest**

**Genette**

-----

It was supposed to be routine. A routine exercise to train those who Captain Jack Bartlett had labeled "nuggets".

I had only arrived at Sand Island that morning. When I first stepped off the ramp and onto the surface, it didn't seem like an Osean Air Corps base. At least, not the ones that I had visited previously. The clear blue waters and beautiful clean beaches made it seem more like a summer resort than a military airstrip. I didn't get an official greeting. I didn't really get a greeting at all, actually, but I can't say that I was anticipating one. I simply handed my credentials to the guard once I had reached the main gate. I was told to go see a certain Colonel Orson Perrault, the base commander. The problem was that I was never actually told where to find him.

Luckily for me, there were plenty of signs that lined the hallways throughout the base. As I walked through the corridors of the command building, I couldn't help but admire the atmosphere of cleanliness that existed throughout the entire structure. The walls were recently painted, the windows spotless, the white and blue carpeting fresh. It felt as if I was moving through a large office building in downtown Oured.

It took me a little longer than it should have to reach Perrault's office. The base commander's office was at the end of a long, narrow hallway. That meant that either this colonel was an introvert, or someone who was a little too big for his britches. Whichever was true, that was my destination. I approached the door and knocked three times.

"Yea?"

I walked in to facing the base commander who already had someone there, a captain. The man had a muscular build and a head of black hair. The colonel was the exact opposite. He had no hair, and could definitely afford to skip a few meals. Perrault then looked toward me with suspicion in his eyes and handed a folder to the captain.

"Here is the new man's record, Bartlett."

The captain began to read the file as Perrault motioned for me to approach. I handed him my credentials. After quickly scanning them, he handed them back to me, along with the card key to my quarters.

"Lockridge, eh? Can't say that I'm a stranger to that name. I flew with his old man in the war. He was always talking about the kid."

The captain apparently didn't know I was present until he turned and saw me. He glared at me with eyes of suspicion like Perrault had done. Only this look was a little different.

"Captain Jack Bartlett, meet Mr. Albert Genette, a journalist from the mainland. He's interested in doing a story on the squadron."

The base commander had said that in a dry tone, with a hint of annoyance.

"Well, how are ya, Genette? It's a pleasure."

He said that in a hearty, friendly tone with a smile as he extended his hand. There's something I wasn't expecting. I shook his hand and returned the smile out of courtesy.

"Same here, Captain."

While we were introducing ourselves, the colonel reached into one of the desk drawers, pulled out a cigar and struck a match. Though all the signs in the building had a no-smoking symbol on them, Perrault did so anyway. Bartlett's expression then reverted back to the stale adversarial look.

"Well, gentlemen, if there's nothing further, I've got a lot of things that need doing."

Before he left, Perrault stopped him.

"Bartlett, you're running some training exercises today, aren't you?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"Well, Mr. Genette might want to come along. That is, if he's not going to get airsick."

_That would be interesting, _I thought. _More than interesting..._ _action in the sky, up close and personal. Can't beat that!_

Bartlett seemed a little annoyed at the suggestion, but forced a smile.

"That's great, just make sure that you don't puke in the plane. Wait until we're on the ground. Meet at Hanger A2, 1300 hours."

He then saluted Perrault and left quickly.

"There's nothing more, Genette. You're dismissed."

He told me that as if I was under his command. I realized then that this colonel was a colonel who was a little too big for his britches, and that he didn't particularly enjoy my presence on _his_ Sand Island.

**IIIb. Undeclared War**

**Bartlett**

-----

I'll never forget the first time I met Kid. It was during that first engagement of the war. Right after the control tower had reported that a flight of bandits was en route to the mainland, they picked something else up on radar. A lone friendly aircraft was approaching from the northeast, heading toward Sand Island base. The control tower didn't even have time to radio the pilot. He had initiated communication first.

"Sand Island, this is First Lieutenant Lockridge, en route to your location from McNealy Air Corps base, over."

"Lieutenant, you aren't scheduled to arrive for another three hours!"

Kid acted as if the tower had never radioed him.

"Hmm, how about that! Bandits, eh?"

I decided to answer him, before the control tower could order him to land. From what I heard from his old man, I knew he would rather be up in the air rather than on the ground. That was my guess, anyway.

"Roger that, Lieutenant. This is Captain Bartlett. Are you armed?"

"I've got a 20mm gun on me."

"That's all?"

"Aye, sir."

I remember cursing low enough so that the radio wouldn't pick up the word. I thought _'Dammit, I could have used another experienced pilot up here.'_ Little did I know, he wasn't about to give up just yet.

"Alright, Lieutenant. Go and land."

He didn't really disobey, but he did question.

"You sure, sir? I've got a gun on me, I can fight."

"Kid, you don't even have a missile!"

I said that as if I wanted him to land. His response brought me some relief, but not much. Still, I couldn't help but notice his nerve.

"No, but I can draw some heat off the guys who do!"

"Hmm. Alright Lieutenant, get over here ASAP. Those bandits aren't too far away!"

"Got it!"

I was waiting for an objection from the tower, but it never came.

"Okay! Baker, Svenson, trail behind me and stay close. We'll deal with these bandits. The rest of you, stay low and follow the kid's lead!"

That's when all hell broke loose.

**Lockridge**

I remember that day very clearly. After Jack Bartlett had ordered the nuggets to follow my lead, I cranked the afterburners full to catch up with them. I had just arrived in time, because the moment I assumed the lead, that now all-too familiar missile alarm blared in my ears. I then looked forward. Four of those lovely explosive projectiles were racing towards my cockpit. I lunged forward onto the stick, sending my plane spiraling downward.

"All trainees, break formation and climb! Bandits in front of us! Bartlett, get your ass down here!"

I didn't even remember saying that until after I had landed.

For the next minute, I had no idea what was going on up there above me as I desperately maneuvered to evade four missiles. My aircraft continued it's downward spiral. I waited as long as possible until I yanked the stick back and just narrowly avoided plunging into the vast ocean. While all this was happening, I heard voices, yells, and screams over the radio, but I could decipher none of them.

I was lucky to have two of those missiles sink into the sea as they tried to track my position and explode soon after, spewing salt water into the sky. Looking up to see two bandits above me, I again pulled back and the aircraft began to fly upward. I reached the bandits altitude, and for a split second my plane was inverted as the enemy aircraft appeared in my sights. I cranked the afterburner on again and raced past the two Su-27s in front of me. Good thing those missiles chasing me were heat seeking Sidewinders. Otherwise, those two bandits would have had me for lunch. As my aircraft sped past them, the deadly projectiles changed course and sent those Su-27s down in a giant ball of flame.

"Splash two bandits!"

I was able to breathe easy and recover from the immense G forces for a few seconds. Then I noticed that five friendly aircraft were no longer in the sky. All trainees. I heard one of the instructors over the radio.

"Nagase, Lockridge, disengage and return to.."

He didn't finish that statement, for his cockpit was strafed with gunfire.

I didn't have time to recognize the other pilot's name as I frantically searched the skies for the remaining bandits. Another one of the instructors, or at least that's what I thought he was, was being eyed by a lurking Su-27.

"Nagase, form on my wing. We'll get that bandit off of em'. Bartlett, you still alive?"

The words did sound a little sarcastic in the way they came out, as you may have thought.

"Yea, I'm engaged! You two get that bastard off of Baker's tail!"

The number seven jet ignited afterburners and chased after the trailing bandit. I tried to do the same, but there was not enough reserve fuel for the afterburner to function. Nagase quickly swooped in behind the Su-27. After about three seconds,

"You've got a lock?"

"Yes," was all I heard.

I remembered who that was now, but quickly shoved that aside as the bandit let loose a missile.

"What are you waiting for? Fire!"

"..."

"God Dammit, I'm ordering you to shoot!"

At last, Nagase fired and obliterated the enemy plane. The bandit's missile, however, had impacted Baker's jet.

"Baker, what's your status?"

The response over the radio was filled with static, but it could be deciphered.

"I'm not sitting pretty, but I think I've got her under control."

"For God's sake Nagase, if you can't stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen! If you can't do your duty, get out of the Air Corps!"

I'm not sure if I really meant that, but I guess I'll never know. What came over the radio next was a godsend that ended this hellish nightmare.

"Splash another bandit. The unknown aircraft are withdrawing. All surviving aircraft... return to base."

Bartlett had said 'unknown aircraft', but we all knew which faction was the aggressor.

-----

The return was about as unglamourous as the flight. We were all surprised when Baker's aircraft veered off of the runway and exploded as it smashed into one of the hangers. Everything seemed to be fine until those last few seconds. Yet another had died. Two instructors and five trainees in all. It was definitely not a good day to be at Sand Island.

Bartlett was the last to touch down. As I exited the cockpit of my jet, I saw Nagase standing next to the plane adjacent to mine. I took a moment to take in the atmosphere, the surroundings. They betrayed the fact that there was a dogfight. The island and it's wildlife seemed so peaceful, even after seven Osean pilots had perished that day. As I approached Nagase, she was peering up at the sky, lost in thought.

"Greetings, Ms. Shortstop."

I knew that it was a very inappropriate time for that statement, but I said it anyway. All she did was look me in the eye.

"Lieutenant."

She felt guilt. I know she did. It had to be expected.

"Look, don't blame yourself. Baker's death was not your fault. Blaming yourself only makes you feel more like crap, and that's the kind of feeling that will get you killed. Just focus on the fact that you came home alive. That is what's important."

Before there was a response, I heard the voice of Albert Genette for the first time.

"That pilot in the number seven was amazing! Did you see her fight back?"

"I couldn't force myself to watch."

He turned to face Nagase, seemingly without noticing me.

"Nagase! You're not gonna be alive long with the way you fly!"

"I won't die, sir."

Her voice was low, but Bartlett seemed to understand.

"Are you sure? It looks like you couldn't hurt a fly!"

Bartlett continued on, probably heading up to the control tower to give those idiots a good tongue-lashing. The other man remained and pulled out a camera. Now, I try not to pre-judge others, but journalists mostly are a bunch of... well, you get the idea. I thought the same way about Genette before I got to know him. At any rate, Nagase forced a small smile for the camera. I put on my best poker face as Genette took the shot.

I had been temporarily transferred to Sand Island to aid in the training of the nuggets, but with that day's little undeclared war, Sand Island became my new home.


	5. A Simple, Old Legend

**IV. A Simple, Old Legend**

**Nagase**

---

The ready room was a lot emptier after that first fight. There were only seven pilots now. Three of them trainees who, out of sheer luck, were on the ground that day. Captain Bartlett and I were there, of course, along with Second Lieutenant Alvin H. Davenport, who had recently been transferred from Air Corps Central Command Headquarters, which was safely tucked away deep in the mainland. The guy surely wasn't shy. He was a motormouth that loved his rock n' roll. Lastly came _First_ Lieutenant Jake Lockridge. Now that I had time to think, it seemed a little strange that he was a rank above me, considering we were members of the same graduating class.

_Well, he _did_ splash two planes without firing a shot..._

It seemed strange, yes, but I can't say that I was shocked. Always dedicated to duty and honor. That's the kind of man he was. At least, that's who he was four years previously. Up in the air that day, when Jake told me 'If you can't do your duty, get out of the Air Corps!', I wasn't particularly bothered by it. I knew what to expect. Whether he was willing to sign the discharge papers or not, however, was a different story.

I glanced around the room. The large window to the side allowed the sunlight to enter, bathing the ready room in a dim orange. Five rows of five chairs each used up most of the space in there, and most of them were empty. In front, there was a desk and a swivel chair where Captain Bartlett was seated. He was leaning back with his eyes closed, checking his wristwatch occasionally. The debriefing was to begin at 1600 hours. It was then 1605 hours. I don't think Captain Bartlett really cared much about the delay, though. Everyone had arrived except our new transfer from McNealy. Heh, it seemed like it should have been the opposite.

After about another thirty seconds, the door swung open to reveal our new wingman. He didn't look all that much different than the first time I had met him at the academy. The short brown hair was still there, combed straight down. Other cadets would always suggest a different hairstyle, but Jake would never change it. 'It's easy and simple,' were the words that he used. He retained his medium build, not too far one way or the other. Everything was pretty much the same. Except now he was wearing an olive drab uniform instead of a white t-shirt.

After closing the door behind him, Jake stopped for a second and saluted his superior officer.

"My apologies for my tardiness, sir. I was..."

"Forget it, Kid. It's gonna be a short one anyway. Take a seat anywhere."

Bartlett had cut him off, and I think Jake enjoyed at last not having to explain himself for being five minutes late. He then proceeded quickly to the chair midway between myself and Davenport, who would later be known to us as Chopper. Now that everyone was present, Captain Bartlett sat up.

"I know it may be painfully obvious, but we've got more planes than people now. So from this moment, Wardog Squadron is gonna be sitting alert. If we get orders to launch, stay glued to me up there. Nagase..."

"Yes, sir."

"You're gonna be flying number two on my wing. If nobody watches you, who knows what trouble you'll get yourself into."

I didn't know what to think about that, and I wasn't sure whether he meant that as a compliment or not. So I pushed it aside, and accepted it for what it was: an assignment. The captain's gaze quickly shifted to the two men on my left.

"Second Lieutenant Davenport, meet First Lieutenant Lockridge."

Chopper looked rather confused and annoyed at the same time. It wasn't anything personal, but Jake was in his early twenties, and his superior, while Chopper was twenty-nine, and I think that made him a little uneasy. They shook hands quickly and said a few words before Captain Bartlett resumed the debriefing.

"Frankly, I really couldn't care which one of you flies third. Either of you could fit the role, so flip a coin or something."

Jake, maybe intending to be a complete wiseass, pulled a quarter out of his pocket right then and there.

"Call it."

The coin was thrust high into the air and landed as Chopper had predicted.

"Okay then, Lieutenant Davenport. The number three position is all yours."

"Sounds cool to me, thanks!"

"Hehe, you're welcome."

He had smiled. It seemed to have come so easily. Jake seemed to have changed immensely, at least in the way he dealt with others in social situations. It was quite refreshing, to be honest. Especially since we would be flying up there together.

"Well, that settles that," Bartlett concluded.

"That's really all I brought you in here for. Not much of a debriefing, since you all know what happened up there by now. Remember, we're out here on the border, so always be prepared for an emergency. That's all I have for ya. Now get out of here."

The nuggets were the first to leave, followed very quickly by Chopper. As Jake exited the room before me, the captain called after him.

"Hey, Kid! I almost forgot to ask, what did they call you back at McNealy? What was your callsign?"

The Lieutenant put on a little smirk and replied, "Frostfire, sir."

I'll never forget the way Captain Bartlett looked when he heard that. He raised an eyebrow and suppressed a chuckle. I imagine that I had the same look on my face, as well.

"Yea? It certainly fits you perfectly. Well sorry, but I think it's too damned long. We'll split that in half later. For now, though, I'll just call you 'Kid' since you're the new guy here."

Jake simply shrugged and said,

"Whatever works, sir."

-----

"I've never eaten anything like this before. I think I've stepped in it a couple of times, but I never ate it."

That's what Jake had said as he took his seat at the mess table that evening. He was probably right, too. The "mess hall" seemed more like an Oured café, on the ground floor with very large windows which offered a pretty nice view of the runway and the ocean beyond. The three of us sat at a small circular table, adjacent to one of those windows. The drops of light rain were just beginning to fall as Chopper was quick to answer Jake's comment.

"The food is actually pretty good most of the time, but lately it's gone downhill. We've been getting military surplus. Definitely not the fresh stuff we got back on the mainland, eh?"

"Heh, I know what you mean. Hmm, look at this. A dinner roll, freshly baked in 2007."

"Come on Frosty, it ain't so bad. Aren't you the one who always says to try everything?"

As you already might have guessed, Chopper had shot questioning glances at each of us as I addressed Jake by his academy nickname, but Frosty himself didn't seem to mind at all.

"I never said I wasn't going to eat it. It doesn't look like I have much of a choice anyway."

He then used his fork to pick up what was supposedly a piece of meat from the unappetizing sludge.

"Well, fortune favors the bold, I guess."

Well... let's just say that fortune didn't favor him that time. After disposing of the... object in question, Jake shook his head and laid his hand on his upper chest.

"Hah! Don't worry, Kid. That's exactly what happened to me when I first tasted the stuff!"

A few moments later, we heard the footfalls of the approaching Albert Genette.

"Thanks for the warning, Lieutenant."

The words were in a friendly tone. He probably knew that at least one of us wouldn't appreciate a journalist interfering in our business.

"I apologize. I don't think I've properly introduced myself, have I? Albert Genette, freelance journalist."

As if we didn't know what he was. Anyhow, he extended his hand and received the same from each of us. Jake was professional, but you could tell that the small smile and the nod he gave were forced. Before the chit chat started, Frosty made his escape.

"Well, since it's obvious that this... heh, 'food' isn't going to do me any good, I think I'll take my leave. If you folks will excuse me.."

He disposed of the leftovers and strolled outside into the dampness.

The proceeding conversation wasn't important in any way, really. The usual greetings and questions such as 'It's nice to meet you.' and 'How's work?' were exchanged. I actually don't remember much of it, to be honest. What I do remember, though, is the conversation which followed outside with First Lieutenant Lockridge.

The rain had picked up a bit, but was nothing more than a heavy drizzle. Jake had been standing in the same spot for several minutes now, staring out to the sea. As I cautiously approached, I heard the low recitation of a poem.

"The young knight set out on a wondrous quest, with his father's sword on his back,

He traveled the land, from the north to the south, from the east to the west,

The knight stalked game in the wood, sailed upon the lakes and oceans,

Trudged through swampy marshlands, journeyed across frostbitten tundra,

He had wandered the earth for a number of years,

The boy would meet many people, peasant and noble alike, but found no answer,

To the question which plagued him so,"

He was beginning to speak the next verse before he recognized footsteps behind him. It seemed to me that my new wingman was startled a little, as if he had just broken out of a trance. He turned swiftly, as if ready to parry a blow. Jake relaxed and tried to hide his surprise once he realized who was there. After I asked him the coming question, he only tried harder.

"What was that poem you were reciting?"

Before the response, he donned a smile, which I knew was fake.

"Oh, nothing. Just a simple, old legend."

"Well, don't let me stop you. I'm curious."

He shook his head while looking down.

"Nah, it's not important..."

Jake turned right and started walking away slowly. Something about the walk was... different.

"So what have you been doing with yourself all this time?"

I caught up and strolled alongside him.

"I started off at Heirlark for basic flight training, until I came here. Everything was to be finished here with Wardog. Well, until today that is."

I noted how quickly he had changed the subject.

"Heirlark. That's up in North Osea, right? It's a little too cold up there for baseball."

"Hah! Well, that's certainly true."

The conversation drifted in about ten different directions. None of them were really notable. We chatted about the current baseball season, the forty year old hockey player Richard Robins, and how stupid some recently released movies were. The talk didn't directly relate to Jake until I asked him,

"That was some pretty fancy flying up there today, where did you learn to do that, _First_ Lieutenant?"

He stalled for a moment, then finally took a breath and said,

"Second Lieutenant Nagase, if my flying up there today was fancy, I'll be terrified as I see what happens when my flying is horrible."

It was then that I realized the new smiling, cheerful, and talkative Lockridge was not the whole Lockridge. As I saw him walk off by himself, I thought,

_He's holding a lot of things back. Those things are going to have to be dealt with, sooner or later._

It wasn't until much later that I heard the end of that old legend, and what it meant for the man who many would come to know as "Blaze".


	6. Farewell Blackbird

**V. Farewell Blackbird**

**Nagase**

—

"An SR-71 Blackbird, eh? That reminds me of an old song-"

"Save the cracker-barrel philosophy until after the briefing, Lieutenant Lockridge."

The ready room was a bit more crowded the next morning with the addition of Captain Matthew "Marshal" Donaldson, the Chief of Flight Operations for Sand Island Air Corps Base. He was rather tall, I'd say about six feet plus seven inches, and he had the kind of voice that made you sit up and listen when you heard it. I guess that's why he always preferred to give the mission briefings himself.

Donaldson stood in the front of the room, alongside the screen which had on it the image of a sleek black jet. The Chief also preferred to use the projector which sat on a desk in the center of the ready room. Although other briefing rooms at other bases now used large computer monitors to present their missions to their pilots, Donaldson was an old fashioned guy who stuck with what worked.

Jake, Chopper, Captain Bartlett and myself occupied the same seats as we had the previous day. We were all listening attentively. That is, attentively enough that we understood the mission objectives. Captain Bartlett seemed to be half asleep, but that was only due to the fact that he had gone through tens, if not hundreds of briefings just like this one.

"As First Lieutenant Lockridge and his... keen eye for detail have pointed out, this is an SR-71 Blackbird. This particular one was detected over the Osean mainland several hours ago, presumably conducting air reconnaissance of civilian and non-civilian targets of military significance."

We all knew that mission briefings must be highly detailed, but all of us, including Donaldson, had expressions on our faces that screamed, 'What else would they be conducting reconnaissance of?'

"About thirty minutes ago, the spy plane was detected and fired upon by Army Coastal Defense Force SAM launchers. The plane has suffered heavy damage, but is still airworthy, and it is about now entering within the Sand Island air defense perimeter. Your mission is simple. Intercept the bogey aircraft and force it to land so that we can identify it and find out who the hell is spying on us."

Chopper, Jake, and myself looked at each other with sarcastic expressions. I imagine that Captain Bartlett was too, in his own way. He still seemed half-asleep. Jake was about to open his mouth, either with an inquiry or a curse, but was cut short by the entrance of Adjutant Base Commander Allen C. Hamilton. Hamilton had a serious look on his face, as he always did. He quickly glanced at us, then turned to Donaldson and handed him a piece of paper.

I think Frosty wanted to size Hamilton up. After Donaldson received the message, Jake asked,

"Sir! Do we have consent to fire on the Yuktobanian aircraft if desired?"

Captain Bartlett must have known what was coming next, because he let out a little smirk. Hamilton, on the other hand, stared at the lieutenant with wide eyes and snapped,

"Who said anything about a Yuktobanian aircraft?!"

After a few moments of silence, Jake gave a shrug and Hamilton turned back to the Flight Chief.

"Captain, if Wardog squadron has been fully briefed, please send them on their way before they forget their instructions."

Hamilton took one last glance at Frosty before leaving with a slam of the door. Once Hamilton was gone, Donaldson laughed heartily and clapped his hands several times.

"Lockridge, I have to say that you've got a big set of brass ones to start Hamilton up like that. You're now officially on his 'naughty' list."

It really wasn't funny, but I let out a small laugh nevertheless while Chopper gave our new wingman a pat on the back and said,

"I'd have to agree with the Chief on that one, Kid!"

Captain Bartlett didn't speak or move, but he did retain the smile on his face. Donaldson's expression then shifted back to serious mode.

"Well, to answer your question, lieutenant, the Yuktobanian aircraft is not to be fired on, according to this little note I've just received from our ever so gracious Captain Hamilton. Now, are there any further questions?"

When there were none, the chief cracked a grin and remarked sarcastically,

"Alright, Wardog. You'd better get up in the air before you forget your instructions."

—

The Flight Prep Station was simply a spacious room with three rows of lockers. Five of them were on each side of the row, enough space for thirty pilots, although Sand Island would never come to accommodate more than twenty. My little haven was in the middle of the center row. Jake, or Blaze, as I would come to call him, had set up shop directly on the other side.

There would be many words exchanged across that center row. The first of which came before Jake's very first takeoff from Sand Island. As I was putting on my helmet and flight suit, I heard light humming from the other side.

"What song is that, Blaze?"

Instead of directly answering the question, he surprisingly began to sing the song, his voice radiating throughout the room.

_Pack up all my cares and woes, here I go, singing low,_

_Bye, Bye, Blackbird_

_Somebody there waits for me, sugar's sweet and so is she,_

_Ciao, Ciao, Blackbird_

_No one here can love or understand me,_

_Oh, what hard-luck stories they all hand me,_

_So make my bed and light the light, I'll be home late tonight,_

_Oh Blackbird, Farewell_

I have to tell you right now, that was the darkest thing I had ever heard in my life. That voice was beautiful, yet conveyed a sadness and despair which I cannot possibly describe in words. I don't know why, but I envisioned such a blackbird flying, flying alone endlessly in the clear sky... only to be eventually engulfed by the fiery mouth of hell itself. It scared me beyond belief, and to be totally honest, I don't remember anything that happened from the end of that song until,

"Lieutenant Nagase!"

There was a nudge on my shoulder, and I looked up to see Blaze with a serious look on his face.

"Are you gonna get your plane up in the air with the rest of us, or am I gonna have to scrounge up some discharge papers?"

I really thought he was serious until I saw that priceless wiseass grin that appeared on his face. Trying not to show any surprise, I returned the gesture as best I could.

"Let's get up there and catch ourselves a blackbird."

**Bartlett**

The first mission with Kid? Heh, how could I forget it?

"This is AWACS 5, callsign Thunderhead. Alright Wardog, get the target on the ground. Remember, you are not to fire on the SR-71. I repeat, do not fire at the target."

"Thunderhead, this is Wardog 4, callsign Blaze. I appreciate the refresher, however I do believe that the squadron was in fact _listening_ during the mission briefing."

There was a low chuckle over the radio, who I assume was that chatterbox Davenport. I just couldn't help but get in on the exchange.

"Hey Kid, give Thunderhead a break. He's an AWACS, so I don't think anybody ever picked him for basketball."

That got the whole squadron laughing over the radio. After I few seconds, I decided to quit it, just in case Thunderhead thought about 'misreading' a number that showed up on the radar.

"Well, it seems that you're confident, Kid. Just mark our tail and don't venture too far off, got it?"

"The idea never crossed my mind, sir."

I'd been flying for a long time, and I can definitely say that Kid exhibited a lot of charismatic qualities when you flew with him up there. The voice over the radio was calm, but there was something about it that would compel you to pay extra close attention to that voice over all the others.

"Boy, am I glad that you're in the tail position instead of me!"

I intervened once again, but not out of defense for Kid. The squad had never been up in the air together, and I wanted to see how Davenport would react to a few words from his squadron leader.

"Second Lieutenant Alvin Davenport! Do you want a special name too?"

"Yes sir! I would prefer 'Chopper', as I just might not be able to acknowledge orders being addressed to any other moniker."

_Smartass._

"Well, it does seem to fit perfectly. I may have a better name for ya, but I'll keep it to myself, alright?"

"Ugh... thanks for cutting me some slack!"

There was no chance to continue our little friendly discussion as we neared the target. Smoke was bellowing from one of it's engines, filling the sky with a large black cloud. A huge gash was visible on the side of the plane, and because of that, it was moving so slowly that we could have flown circles around the damned thing.

"Tally-ho on the bogey. She's a big son of a bitch, ain't she? Okay, where's Chatterbox Chopper?"

Kid's chuckle was heard just as loudly as Davenport's voice.

"Wha... so that's you're special name for me, huh?"

It was a statement and not a question, and there's no need to answer a statement, eh?

"How about you talk to someone else for a change? You've got the special privilege of sending the surrender proposal today."

"Oh no, please, your age and experience before my youth and virility!"

"Heh, I'd considered that, but I'm a lot shyer than your greatly virile self."

"Oh yes, of course, you're absolutely right!"

That was the moment I really started to like that crazy loud-mouthed metal-head.

"Attention, unidentified aircraft, change course to follow our beacon immediately. You'll follow us to the nearest airfield and land there. Lower your landing gear if you comply with these conditions."

"Hey Chopper, you're a natural! You should go on CNO Sunday Morning!"

"Same to you, Kid! I wonder how that singing voice of yours would sound doing some rock n' roll!"

The SR-71 didn't lower it's landing gear. I knew it wouldn't. Anyone who would be willing to fly a spy plane that far inland never has any inclination to surrender. He wouldn't have made it back to Sand Island with us, anyway. The one engine which was still functioning caught fire, and the whole plane started to descend more and more rapidly with every passing second. It was then that Thunderhead alerted us about the incoming fighter craft.

"Attention Wardog! Incoming bogey fighter aircraft at high speed inbound bearing 280 degrees west, altitude 6,000 feet. Hold weapons safe and await further orders!"

After that, I knew it was finally time for these hotshots to show their stuff. That was when Kid made a quick assessment of the situation.

"They're crossing the lake to retrieve their spy plane. Valiant effort, but they aren't gonna pull it off."

That's exactly what I was about to say. After, Nagase finally opened her mouth to say something.

"They're coming at us head-on, everybody."

"Everyone is forbidden to fire without my permission, got it?"

The response from Kid sounded almost disappointing.

"...Aye. Roger that, Cap."

The Yuke planes continued to draw closer and closer, and it wasn't long until the missile alarm blared like a banshee. I didn't have to instruct the squad to evade, as everybody broke formation and scattered like rats moments after.

Then we heard Thunderhead again.

"Wardog, hold your fire until you receive additional orders!"

My response,

"Forget that crap! Shut your mouths and send the bandits to hell!"

**Lockridge**

"Wardog, you are violating direct orders from Command!"

"What else is new? I'm not gonna see any more of my pilots die for nothing! Come on, Kid, we're gonna blow em' out of the sky!"

I'm gonna tell you about that first sortie from Sand Island through my eyes. First off, I knew that pilot wasn't going to surrender. He would have killed himself first. The four fighters that had been sent to protect the dying aircraft would have flown across the Ceres in vain. I promised myself that I would see to that. By the time Bartlett had ordered us to fight back, I was already up around 10,000 feet. 'Blow em' out of the sky' was all I needed to hear. Even if the folks at High Command didn't know it, we had known since the day before that the war had already begun, and that we would be at the forefront of the fighting.

I remember smiling to myself and acknowledging Bartlett's orders with enthusiasm, and the others following suit.

"Roger that, Cap!"

"Damned right, let's get em'!"

"Copy that. Engaging bandits."

It was total pandemonium for the first thirty seconds of the dogfight. We had broken formation just a bit too early, and we were all hung up with our own separate enemies. The repeated warnings from Thunderhead not to fire back were in vain, and caused more of a distraction then they were worth.

"Crap... dogfighting really sucks, you know that?"

Chopper was right, and that was the way it would be for the next several sorties, until dogfighting would become second nature to the 108th Tactical Fighter Composite Squadron.

Neither 'team' gained much headway as their Su-27's and our own F-5's soared about the sky. One pilot would achieve a missile lock while the other veered hard right or left to break it. Surprisingly, there were no words spoken between any of us during this time, except the repeated statements from Thunderhead to cease fighting. Eventually, however, these also stopped and left the frequency barren.

My view shifted to the action on my left, and I could vaguely make out the shapes of Chopper's F-5 and the bandit Su-27. Chopper was on a course roughly parallel to mine. That was when I saw the opportunity to shake the engagement from the deadlock.

"Chopper, you hear me over there? Look to your right. Do you see me?"

I thought there was no response, but through hindsight, I realize that he had no chance to respond before I spoke again.

"Alright, here's what we're gonna do. Hold your course and let him lock onto you. That should take about three seconds. Once that happens, break hard right while I break left. We'll approach each other head on. I'll clear your six o'clock and you do the same for me, got it?"

"I don't know, Kid, that sounds pretty risky..."

That was the first time I lashed out at Chopper.

"Dammit, this is combat! There's no time to be afraid, that's how you get killed!"

Bartlett must have been listening. I mean... of course he was. Having total awareness while dogfighting was a skill every squadron commander needed, and I would learn that same skill in due course.

"Don't worry about it, Davenport. Just keep control and aim straight. The rest will take care of itself."

"Alright. I guess there's not much of a choice. Okay Kid, I'm holding course..."

I looked out to my left and he was indeed keeping his plane straight. Then the missile warning light went on, and I almost broke the flight stick off of the console while veering left. The plane never seemed to move quite as quickly as I wanted it to. I would always think like that when I flew into combat, as if my vision of events moved more quickly than the events themselves. It's one of those things I'll always be proud of.

The fifteen seconds in which Chopper and myself were on a collision course... they felt like fifteen minutes.

"As soon as you shoot, send your plane downward, and I'll go the opposite way."

I took the silence as an acknowledgment.

Three seconds more, and my HUD became red with the sign of a missile lock. My thumb slammed the trigger and I immediately pulled my hand back with all the strength I could muster.

"Fox Two!"

"Fox Two!"

Chopper was a little later with his movements than I was, but he came through in the clutch. The first of many tests he would pass with flying colors.

"Splash one on my end. How about you, Chopper?"

"Whew... yea, yea. Splash one over here too. Wow, that was close!"

The celebration was a little too premature.

"Edge here, there's a bandit on my six o'clock and I can't shake him!"

As I was the nearest the Nagase's position, I cranked the afterburner to reach my wingman before that Yuke earned his first notch on his kill score.

"Roger that, Edge. I'm coming up behind him now."

Of course, things never go quite that easily. The bandit's trigger finger was a quick one. Just before my missile impacted his engines, he let off a Sidewinder. Nagase probably would have bought the farm right then and there, had the explosion of the bandit's aircraft not engulfed the missile.

"Splash two! You're in the clear, Nagase."

There was some heavy breathing heard over the radio, obviously Nagase steadying herself.

"Ugh... thanks, Blaze. I owe you one."

I then searched the skies. I beheld the SR-71 we had left behind plunge into the ocean, but I didn't see the remaining Su-27 or Bartlett. The radar showed nothing, as well. Luckily, we heard Bartlett report the downing of the final bandit.

"The last fighter is down. I had to chase the snake for a bit. He was trying to get back across the Ceres. AWACS Thunderhead, are you detecting any more unidentified aircraft?"

Thunderhead must have been sleeping. It took several seconds to hear his response, and it was filled with annoyance.

"Wardog Squadron... the radar is clear. All bandits are downed. Mission complete, return to base."

Bartlett's voice was a lot more cordial.

"Nice work, everybody. Looks like we're all in one piece. Wardog 4, to commemorate the entire squadron's survival, I pledge never to address you by your callsign. To me, you'll always be 'Kid'. Sound good to you?"

Bartlett's humor tried to hide his seriousness, but he meant what he said. The nickname 'Kid' would stick with me for a long while after that. It was the first of many aliases my reputation would garner.


	7. Childhood Memories

**VI. Childhood Memories**

**Peter N. 'Pops' Beagle**

—

Lockridge is a character, that's for sure. When you first meet him, you'll either think he's the friendliest guy on earth or a dirty rotten bastard. The truth is, he's both.

I remember when I met the... heh, kid. A twenty-three year old wearing a First Lieutenant's silver insignia.

If I remember correctly, the date was September 25th, 2010. The distant sun was setting, a gorgeous sight that colored everything in it's wake with a dim reddish glare. I believe we were in hanger... A6. Yea, A6, that's right. Right outside was a bench occupied on one side by Captain Jack Bartlett and on the other by Albert Genette, the reporter. They were talking about the current 'diplomat's war', as Bartlett had called it.

There were three new F/A-18E's in that hanger. The mechanics that we had were divided amongst them, giving them a special 'tune-up' with some of my own personal modifications before the flyboys would take em' up for a shakedown cruise... if there would be time for it.

As fate would have it, First Lieutenant Lockridge had decided to overlook the work being done on the fighters. Every department was short of personnel that day, since the base needed anti-aircraft guns, shore batteries, pillboxes, minefields, barbed wire, and every other type of defensive installation imaginable. The war hadn't started just yet, but you could have fooled anybody on Sand Island.

Anyway, being short on manpower, we had to scramble everybody we could to prepare. That included air control personnel, supply crews, cooks, barbers, and anyone else who had two arms and two legs.

One of the makeshift mechanics we had that day was a replacement pilot. That red-headed young fellow was working on the fuselage of the jet in the center of the hanger. He didn't really know what he was doing, since he most likely forgot all of the instructions I had given him. Boy, was he in for a rude awakening. While still fumbling with the wrench,

"What in the name of hell are you doing?!"

It wasn't long before the lieutenant was racing toward him with all speed. The teenage airman froze at attention, dropped the wrench and saluted as Lockridge came to a stop in front of him. The young officer was not impressed.

"Well, not only do you not know how to refit a plane, but you also don't know military protocol. You don't salute indoors unless reporting in. Do you understand that, airman?"

Some of the spectators looked on, including Genette, but the mechanics quickly turned their attention back to their work. Genette resumed the chat with Captain Bartlett, though I think he kept one ear to the proceedings in the hanger.

The teenager lowered his quivering hand.

"Y-Yes, sir."

"Well you _do_ speak Osean, at least. Here, watch closely."

Scooping up the tool, Lockridge began to put on a pretty unique exhibition of aircraft maintenance. His technique is either brilliant or complete madness. He was doing things like a professional mechanic. He didn't have the field experience, but if he wasn't a pilot, Jake Lockridge would have a place in my department, for sure. Thrusting the wrench back into the arms of the teenager, he asked,

"So what's your occupation, airman?"

"I'm a replacement pilot, sir."

Lockridge caught everybody's attention when he snapped back,

"No! You're a soldier! What's you're name?"

"Airman First Class Hans Grimm, sir!"

Nodding, Lockridge gave a neutral expression and commented,

"Grimm, huh? Your employment is looking pretty grim, all right..."

Grimm wasn't phased by this, at least not visibly. He had stopped quivering by now and had straightened up. I think this impressed the future captain. He didn't show it, but I believe First Lieutenant Jake Lockridge saw untapped potential for something in Airman First Class Hans Grimm.

"Just keep working the way I showed you, Grimm. Relax, the manager never cuts anybody on the first day."

Lockridge let Grimm get back to his work. I took no personal offense toward his act of imposing authority, but aircraft maintenance is my department, so I made sure he knew it.

"Lieutenant, you'd best watch where you step in here. Remember, this girl is _my_ daughter."

I pointed to the beautiful F/A-18E Lockridge was working on moments before.

"You just take her out on a date once in a while."

After standing still for a moment, Lockridge began to chuckle. He slowly nodded to me, then finally turned to leave the shade of the musty hanger for the cool breeze of the outdoors.

**Lockridge**

The day after I met Hans Grimm, I was lounging in a surprisingly comfortable wooden chair in the corner of the Crew Room. It was quiet in the beginning, considering the fact that there were only four fully trained pilots on Sand Island. The room was on the second level, and two fairly large windows were on either side. I had been sitting there for a while, having a long restful day after the previous ones of touring the whole base and settling myself in.

Sometime that afternoon, Second Lieutenant Kei Nagase strolled in, carrying a small red book that had obviously seen better days, if the ripped cover was any indication. Wether she did or not, it seemed I was not noticed by Nagase as she took a seat on the couch on the opposite side of the room. She gently brushed the dust off the storybook and slowly opened it.

"Childhood favorite?"

My question wasn't immediately answered due to the attention payed to the book. Nagase slowly raised her head and shot a look of puzzlement toward me, probably wondering why I had asked.

"Well, yes, actually. It was my favorite story as a little girl. It's funny... I haven't really thought about this book in years. Something today just made me remember it."

Nagase flipped through the pages very carefully, reminiscing on memories from years past.

"I had forgotten..."

She seemed to be... hurt, when she beheld the pages that had been damaged.

"Mind if I take a look?"

Her gazed shifted swiftly upward, and at first she carried an expression of annoyance, though it quickly morphed into a wiseass grin.

"Yea, actually, I do mind."

I returned it.

"Heh. Fair enough."

Nagase went back to her book, and I dozed off for a few hours.

I was awakened by the voice of 'Marshall' Donaldson.

"Lieutenant Lockridge!"

I saw the sun setting outside as I jumped up, half dead on my feet. Donaldson knew I was exhausted. He also knew that I wouldn't bitch about being so. Nagase was still on the couch. She was writing something in that childhood favorite of hers. It had been several hours since she first sat down, and I don't think she moved. In fact, I'm not sure she even knew we were there.

"Come on, I want to talk with you over a drink."

_Talk? Who does he think he is, my father?_

And yet as I thought that, I saw a small glimmer of that great man in Captain Matthew Donaldson.

I nodded. "Sure, Cap."

We walked the corridors in silence, passing twelve offices, twenty-two windows, and going down a staircase. I knew he didn't want to talk shop, but since I was actually counting these things, and I needed a conversation to distract my mind.

"So how pissed off is Perrault about our little stunt the other day?"

"Trust me, Lockridge, if he was pissed off, you'd know about it."

That brought that conversation to an abrupt halt. I changed the subject to something a little more general.

"This is quite a city you have here, captain."

"Well, I'm just the Flight Chief, but I thank you for the compliment. You are right when you call this a city. Few people realize that an airbase is much more than a tower and an airstrip. Only a fraction of the people here are actually involved in the flight operations."

I think it's fair to say that I liked Matt from the start. A career soldier, he is the prototypical 'silent workhorse'. The tertiary commander of the base, he did most of the paperwork, organization, and was responsible for all of Sand Island's flight operations. His superiors, namely Hamilton and Perrault, knew this was so, but whenever the spotlight shifted his way, Donaldson scurried away and let the previously noted officers have their time in the sun.

"Lockridge! Get over here!"

The voice had come from behind us, from the mouth of Colonel Orson 'Emperor' Perrault.

"Sir!"

Donaldson shot me a look that said "We'll have that drink later."

I followed the Colonel to his throne room which was called an office. He promptly sat behind his desk, reached into one of the drawers and pulled out two cigars. He stuffed one into his mouth and offered me the second. When I declined, he looked quite offended. I quickly endeavored to correct this.

"That just might hurt my mission efficiency, sir."

He chuckled for a moment, then rebounded.

"First Lieutenant Lockridge... I picked your name off the list from McNealy because I'm aware of your pedigree."

I still feel proud that he was telling the truth when he said that. At the time, I was obviously taken by surprise. I didn't know that my father was so famous.

"Well I'm glad you did, sir."

_Nice choice of words, jackass._

Perrault smiled wide, revealing how well those cigars did their job on his teeth.

"I trust you've been able to settle yourself into _my_ base."

I believe he expected my eyes to roll at that statement, but I never felt a reflex to do so. Perrault's smile retracted as he sild his chair to a nearby file cabinet and reached into it.

While the boss was doing that, I took a few moments to peer at the many objects which adorned the walls of Perrault's throne room. Photos of the flag raising on Festungsinsel, the image of Osean boys storming ashore during 'Operation: Arctic Wire' to liberate the island republic of Wellow, and the Allied victory parade through the South Belkan capital of Sudentor. Nearby were the portraits of Douglas MacArthur, George S. Patton Jr. , and John J. Pershing.

What stood out most, though, was that beautiful white and blue flag which hung from the wall. That flag of Osea, my country, and a symbol that told of her glory.

"Lockridge, since you're second in command of Wardog squadron, you get to fill out..."

He slammed a stack of papers onto the desk.

"...these."

Though I stayed motionless, my face drained of all color once I saw those damned forms. Truth is though, that the stack was a drop in the bucket compared to the amount of paperwork I would have to do later in the war.

"Is that all, sir?"

Perrault nodded, and I began to walk out.

"Lockridge... the paperwork?"

_Damn._

I grabbed the stack of papers and quickly exited the room. I'll tell you right now, though Perrault may have been a pompous ass, that's not necessarily a bad thing for a commander and a patriot.

Anyhow, documents under my arm, I began to make for my quarters to try and finish them before chow time. As I passed through the crew room, Nagase was still seated there. From what I saw, she was writing down the words which had been on the torn out pages of that little red book. This time she noticed me, but not before I heard her say quietly to herself,

"The Demon of Razgriz..."

I stopped in my tracks, myself remembering the old story. She shifted her gaze upward.

"Yes, Lieutenant? Is anything wrong?"

I turned my head and smiled.

"Looks as if we all have our own legends, eh?"


	8. An Ace's Prayer

**VII. An Ace's Prayer**

**Nagase**

—

The 'dinner' that night was just as repulsive and disgusting as ever. Not that it mattered much anyway.

Jake was a little late for our wonderful feast that night. Chopper and I were sitting at our usual table, near the window. The mess hall was crowded with people from all departments, each hoping to gain the slightest bit of nutritional value the three-year old food would offer. Everyone was on edge. When no one is allowed to leave a military base, it's never good news. Luckily, there was soon cause for celebration in the air.

"The Café" was indeed crowded with tired and hungry base personnel who had been busy with another day of transforming Sand Island into a fortress. To us, the war had already begun. The confrontation with the spy plane was well too orchestrated to be anything but a definite act of war. The real attack would come, and Sand Island would be one of two things; the invader's first step on the road to the Osean capital of Oured, or the castle walls on which the enemy would break their back. Everyone intended our little plot of sand to be the latter.

We were seated as usual at our table near the window. Being served for dinner was a surprisingly appetizing meal of meatloaf and green beans. It's taste, however, didn't live up to it's appearance.As a result, not much of it was being eaten. The only real sound was from the television hanging from the ceiling, broadcasting the Oured Green Goblins football game. There wasn't much conversation going on. The anticipation of the fight and general fatigue didn't lend much inspiration for it. Chopper, though, was always up for some noise.

"Aww, Come on, Herden! Exactly _how_ much money did they pay you to let the ball go off your fingertips?!"

The Oured Green Goblins had been expected to have one of the worst seasons in their history. It seemed like the capital's football team was doing just that.

"See, Chop, I told you that when they signed him, didn't I?" It was a voice from across the mess hall.

"It ain't funny, Jay!"

As for myself, I was too preoccupied with my book to hear either the football game or Chopper's interesting conversation. Nope, there wasn't much worth talking about on Sand Island tonight. That is, until Frosty bust open the door to the Café. Blaze had kicked the door open so swiftly that it made a nice round dent in the wall and almost made someone choke on their meatloaf. Everyone couldn't help but jolt their heads towards the entrance. Blaze kept a smile on his face the whole time.

"Just wanted to see if you guys were awake, is all. So what's for supper?"

Jake began calmly walking toward the chow line, and everyone began gradually getting back to their food, although some conversation began to stir. Some about the family back home, some about the Oured Green Goblins, and yes, some about Jake. Chopper was done listening to the game and now exclaimed to me,

"Man, Kid can sure rouse up people when he wants too!"

We would all find out how much of a severe understatement that was.

That was when I saw Alex, our chaplain, walk into the mess hall from the side door. With a big smile on his face, he wasted no time in walking up to Frosty and sharing a few words with him before handing him something small and metallic. That was when Jake put on the biggest smile I had ever seen and bearhugged Alex to the point where the pastor was out of breath when Jake let him go. Well... my jaw nearly dropped. It was such a moving sight and something unimaginable to me until then. It was certainly inspirational. But that's the kind of guy Jake is.

Alex stood to my wingman's side and wrapped his arm around him and announced to the whole mess hall,

"Everyone, I'd like to let you all in on a little secret, which won't be a little secret for long because I'm about to tell it to you."

Alex said that with a sarcastic smirk, and there were a few chuckles in the crowd before Alex let us in on the big news.

"The man you see standing next to me, the new guy on the base, First Lieutenant Jake Lockridge, is now an Ace, having downed five Yuktobanian aircraft!"

Everyone looked at each other with dazzled expressions for a split second, then let out what was the first victory cheer of that war.

Me and Chopper were the most surprised of all.

"Hey Nagase, hasn't Kid only shot down four planes?"

That was the very thought in my mind as well.

"Yea... at least, four that we've seen..."

I was perplexed, and I just looked at Jake's face. It had a smile on it, but something didn't seem right. It seemed forced. _But,_ I thought, _This is Jake Lockridge, Frosty, The big Osean patriot, the bright young student at the Air Corps Academy... but he doesn't seem completely satisfied having his Ace wings... _

It was disturbing to say the least.

The applause was just starting to die down upon the entry of Flight Chief Matthew Donaldson. The towering presence of the captain abruptly ended the cheers.

"Alex, what ARE you doing?"

Even Alex's expression changed from one of celebration to one of panic. But only for a moment.

"I was the one supposed to do that!"

Donaldson burst out in his hearty laugh as Alex relaxed. The chief then joined Jake and Alex in front of the chow line and got everybody's attention.

"Ahem. Now, everyone, I know you're all probably tired and worn out, but in honor of this event,"

My attention shifted to the back of the Café for a moment, and I caught sight of Captain Bartlett leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, with a smile of pride on his face as his eyes were set on the group of men gathered in front of the crowd.

"There has been provided for you all a shipment of _real_ food, courtesy of a few friends we have back on the mainland!"

There then proceeded out of the kitchen a catered selection of a three course meal direct from Jenkins' Grill in Justine, South Osea.

"I know how long you guys have had to suffer under the weight of OMFS (Osean Military Food Services) Policies, so a few of us got together and decided you guys deserved better."

Everyone was about to rush the catering table, so before that happened,

"But enough of my inane blabbering!"

A few chuckles ensures, followed by Chopper nearly standing up in preparation to beat everyone else to the chicken parmigiana.

"We're gonna get this meal kicked off in the best possible way. Our very own Pastor Alex will say a blessing, then you hungry folks can get at this wonderful feast..."

Now I'll stop right there for a second if I may. I had never really thought about God much. My family would go to church sometimes, on the big days like Easter and Christmas. I heard the story of how Jesus died and rose again, but I myself never really thought too much one way or the other. But I do remember what happened when I did. There was just a sense of momentary joy... not happiness necessarily, but just a sense of peace, assurance, and joy. That's how it was up until then. When the chief told us that Alex would say a blessing for the food, a lot of different memories were brought up in my head... and in my heart. So when Alex bowed his head, immediately followed by Jake and Donaldson, and about half of the crowd, I followed suit and made the first prayer in my life for a long while.

"Dear Heavenly Father, we are gathered here today to celebrate an event that commemorates the skill of a pilot in our midst, and yet while we do that, we know that all the glory, in the end, belongs to you. A lot of people will not remember my brother Jake when he's gone. Our names will fade, but Your name, O Lord, will never pass away. So Father, we commit this feast to You. Have this food be a blessing to our bodies, and grant us nourishment for the difficult days ahead. Praise be Your name on this island and in our hearts. In Jesus name, we humbly pray. Amen."

A lot of scuffling was heard, but I couldn't get my eyes open. The joy was there, the feeling that I was somehow... held... kept... safe... I lifted my closed eyes to look at the ceiling and what was past them. I slowly opened my eyes, and though everything was physically pretty much the same, everything just seemed... refreshed... in a way I can't describe.

When I brought my eyes back down, I expected to see a heaping pile of chicken on Chopper's plate, but there was no plate in front of him. His hands were folded, partially covering his face, and our rock n' roller, Chopper was shaking, with a single slight tear in his eye.

I laid my arm on his shoulder.

"Chopper... Chopper, are you okay?"

He instinctively jumped up from his seat and wiped his eyes frantically.

"Yea... yea.. I'm fine."

The smile was quickly brought back up.

"I'm going for my chicken, comon Nagase!"

With that, Chopper bolted toward the buffet line. I stayed for one moment, just searching my heart. But the feeling of peace was gone. And I was back to being just Kei Nagase, simply another Second Lieutenant in the Osean Air Corps. Then it was my turn to feel the hand on my shoulder.

"You okay, Nagase?"

"Yea, Jake, I'm fine... congratulations by the way."

He smirked.

"Liar."

I was alarmed, and my facial expression made sure he knew so.

"You want someone to pray with you, Nagase?"

I was frozen, in place, I had no clue what to say, no idea how to explain what I was feeling inside. Luckily, Jake knew what I was going through.

"Can I ask you one thing, Nagase?"

I nodded politely.

"Do you believe in Jesus?"

I nearly feel back down into the chair. This was Jake Lockridge, the icy-hearted cadet who wouldn't talk to anybody like this. But if I knew then what I know now...

"Uh, yea... I guess so..."

"Do you know what that means?"

"No..."

I answered truthfully, and I felt so... weird right then. It's like I was going to my Dad telling him some bad thing I had done. But that wasn't the way it was.

"Do you want to know?"

I couldn't answer. I really didn't even know what was happening to me. I just sat down on the chair and trailed off.

"Nagase, if you ever what to talk to me about this, you know where to find me."

I still couldn't respond. Too many thoughts. Too many feelings. Too many memories. Too much... much.

Jake walked away quietly. Not long after that, our current captain, Captain Bartlett walked up and laid a plate of food down in front of me.

"Here, Nagase. It looks like you could use it."

He left as simply as he arrived.

Chopper soon came back with a plateful triple the size of mine.

"Hey! Nagase, that's not fair! You got table service!"

I knew he was just kidding.

"Hehe, sorry Chopper."

So we enjoyed our meal and socialization for the rest of that night.

And although I didn't understand it, I knew I was held...protected... safe.


End file.
